


Stop the World

by icandrawamoth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Canada, Chaptered, M/M, September 11 Attacks, Slow Burn, Victor isn't a professional skater, Yuuri still is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: When the events of September 11th, 2001, ground all civilian air traffic in North America, Yuuri's plane is diverted along with many others to the small town of Gander, Newfoundland. As the residents mobilize to welcome the stranded passengers, he meets a kindly man named Victor who takes him under his wing and helps him get through the aftermath. {Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued}





	Stop the World

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get going, a few disclaimer-type things to note:  
> 1\. Though it isn't set in NYC and doesn't deal explicitly with the attacks, this is in essence a 9/11 AU. If that makes you uncomfortable, this isn't the fic for you.  
> 2\. Though the events in Gander obviously really happened, this fic is based more solidy on Come From Away, the Broadway musical inspired by those events which I'm currently a bit obsessed with. I'm sure there were creative liberties taken. Also, you don't need any knowledge of the musical to read this fic. (Though I would 1000% recommend you listen; it's so good, guys!)  
> 3\. Each chapter will be headed by an excerpt from the musical. A small number of other quotes may be drawn from it as well, for example the bit of President Bush's speech toward the end of this first chapter.

_You are here_  
_At the start of a moment_  
_At the edge of the world_  
_Where the river meets the sea_  
_Here on the edge of the Atlantic_  
_On an island in between  
_ _There and here_

The sun is bright and warm overhead as Victor drives across his hometown of Gander, Newfoundland. He's excited; it's a day he's been looking forward to for months. Today is the first day the ice rink he opens will be open for the season, the ice just having finished freezing overnight. He's going in now to check on it and start scheduling events. There will be school hockey games, community skate nights, and of course the beginner skating classes he teaches himself...

Smiling, he flips on the radio, intent on finding a station playing music that will suit his light mood. His fingers are halfway from the power button to the tuning dial when the words coming from the car speakers start to filter in.

A news report. The journalist using that voice, rarely heard but which raises the hairs on the back of one's neck: the sound of professionalism forcibly imposed over confusion and fear. Victor's mouth tightens, hands going back to clench at the steering wheel.

A chill sweeps through him as he listens to the report. A plane hitting a skyscraper in New York City. No estimation yet of cost in lives or damage. _An accident?_ the reporters ask. _But a plane should never have been in that area..._ And as he listens live, shocked gasps, disbelieving cries – another plane, another tower.

Not an accident, then.

* * *

Yuri blinks awake for no particular reason, shaking the fuzziness of sleep from his head as he gazes out the airplane window. Far below, he can see the ocean stretching out to the horizon in every direction – except ahead where a coast is starting to come into view. It makes Yuuri smile a little. He's never had any real problem with flying, but at the same time, thirty-nine thousand feet in the air with no land to be seen isn't his favorite place to be.

He looks down at his watch and sees that it's 9:45 am. He's been on the plane for seven and a half hours, and in only two more or so, he'll be back in Detroit, meeting Phichit and Celestino at the airport. Though they already know about it from when he'd called the night before, he can't wait to show them the bronze metal he's earned in the Italian competition he's returning from.

He's imagining Celestino's face, proud that he placed but gently insistent that he can do better, when the plane's intercom crackles to life. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Due to strong headwinds encountered during our flight over the Atlantic Ocean, we have used more fuel than anticipated and will be stopping to refuel before continuing to Detroit. I apologize for the delay and any difficulty this may cause you; please prepare for landing, which will be happening within the next half hour.”

Yuuri's voice joins the other passengers', rising in a simultaneous groan. This is going to add hours onto the trip. It's not like he has a pressing reason to be back by a certain time, but he was looking forward to getting off the plane and going home. Oh, well, he supposes, there's nothing he can do about it.

“That's weird,” the man in the seat next to him mutters, almost to himself. “They should have controlled for the weather ahead of time. There shouldn't be any reason to make an unscheduled stop.”

“I'm sure it's fine,” Yuuri reasons, not knowing what else to say.

The man's mouth twists. “It's not like we have any choice in the matter. Their stupid mistake means we get in later than promised. And some of us have places to be! Someone is going to hear about this...”

Yuuri doesn't engage him again, merely leaning his head back against the window and watching the coast grow closer.

* * *

An hour has passed, and Victor hasn't moved from the chair in his office since he arrived, the news flowing from the radio into his ears, only a small portion of it actually sinking in, staring sightlessly through the window over the pristine new ice coating the rink. All of his excitement has evaporated. How can he think about something so small when... _this_ is happening?

He closes his eyes, trying to center himself, and jerks in surprise when the phone rings. Almost without thought he's snatched it from the cradle and pressed it to his ear. “Yes?”

“Victor, it's Claude.” Claude Elliott, the mayor of Gander. Why is he calling? “Have you...heard what's happening?”

“That attacks in the US? Yeah, I've been listening to the news all morning. What's going on, Claude?”

The mayor sighs. “I don't know if you know this, but there's just been a protocol issued: all civilian air traffic over Canada and the United States is being grounded in hopes of avoiding any potential further attacks. Planes currently in the air are being sent to remote airports, away from potential targets.”

“Okay...” _Get to the point, Claude._

“A bunch are coming to Gander,” the mayor tells him. “At least thirty that we know of so far.” “Can our airport even handle that?” Victor asks, logical thinking clicking into gear. Something to focus on. “We usually don't get more than, what, half a dozen a day?”

“Right. But we don't have a choice. The planes we can accommodate; the bigger problem is the people. There'll be thousands of passengers on those planes, and we don't know how long they'll be here. Overnight at the very least, and they can't all stay in the terminal. The town council has already declared a state of emergency; we're turning every possible community building into temporary shelter. That's where you come in.”

Victor figures out what he's about to say before he can say it. “There's no room here at the rink,” he groans. “If it had been two days ago, sure, but the ice just went in for the season. There's no way to get it out in time; I'm sorry.”

The mayor curses. “Okay. Um, we're also making a list of volunteers who are willing to take people into their houses if we need to go that far. Would you be willing?”

“Of course,” Victor answers immediately. “Anything I can do.”

“Great...” Victor hears the clicking of computer keys as he is presumably added to the list.

“Claude,” Victor finds himself asking. “Is there anything else I can do?” The thought of spending another minute here as the ever-more-tragic news rolls in is suddenly unbearable.

“We need every volunteer we can get,” the major answers, sounding tired. “We're telling people to go to the community center to start to get organized. Head over there and I can guarantee they'll be able to find you something.”

“Already on my way,” Victor says grimly as he hangs up.

* * *

It becomes apparent pretty quickly that fuel isn't the issue. The plane lands without incident and taxis to an open area, away from the airport, away from anything that looks like it could be used for refueling. Yuuri can't see any vehicles approaching their plane, but he does see others landing. Others already parked. Plane after plane, large and small, swoop down from the sky arrange and themselves, the tarmac growing more and more crowded.

Yuuri's heart climbs into his throat, because he may not have any idea what's going on, but he knows something isn't right. He knows this isn't normal.

He looks around at his fellow passengers, all clearly annoyed and restless. They're murmuring to each other, trying to figure out what's happening. No one even knows where they are. All the flight attendants have disappeared into the cockpit, so there's no one to ask.

“This is ridiculous,” Yuuri's seatmate starts in again, but he's beginning to sound more nervous than angry. “Surely they have to tell us something?”

“They have to at some point,” Yuuri agrees softly. His eyes are fixed on the cockpit door, willing an airline employee to reappear and assure everyone that nothing is wrong, that they'll be back in the air and headed for Detroit soon.

It's been nearly an hour since they touched down when there's an outcry from the front of the plane, and conversation kicks up again, eventually filtering back to where Yuuri is seated. The woman in front of him turns around, teary-eyed and says, “Someone in front was talking to their family on a cell phone and found out what's going on. There were attacks in New York City – two planes crashed into a pair of skyscrapers. They both collapsed entirely!”

Yuuri's eyes go wide at the news, shock and horror as he pictures the events, all the people who were surely killed... He swallows hard and asks, voice shaky, “That's why we're here?”

The woman nods jerkily. “It makes sense, doesn't it? They don't want any planes in the air in case someone is plotting something else, and the pilot had to keep us calm while we were still in the up there.”

People are starting to shout now, demanding answers from the still-closed door, and then suddenly it opens. Half the plane goes silent as the other half grows even louder. The woman Yuuri has been talking to turns back around in her seat.

Two pale-faced flight attendants step to the side as a tall, blonde man moves forward. “Listen, listen,” he implores, waving his hands in an attempt to get the passengers to quiet down. Eventually they do – at least enough that he moves on. “I'm Captain Gallo. We're currently sitting in Gander, Newfoundland.” He takes of his hat abruptly, twisting it in his hands. “You may have heard by now about the apparent attacks which have happened in the United States of America.” He lays out the same sparse details Yuuri has already heard and adds, “For the moment, all civilian air traffic over the US and Canada has been grounded. We don't yet know when we'll be able to take off again. For now, we will be remaining on the plane. Advanced security checks will be conducted on all planes here at Gander Airport before anyone will be allowed to disembark. Planes will be attended to in the order they landed, which means we're going to be here for awhile. Please try to remain calm, and I will share any more information as soon as I have it. Thank you.” He turns and disappears back into the cockpit as people resume shouting panicked questions after him.

Yuuri clenches his shaking hands into fists on the edges of his jacket. This is really happening. An attack. A tragic, terrifying disruption to everything he knows, and Yuuri is stuck here hundreds of miles from home. Alone. He'd been a little nervous when Celestino had had to leave the competition early to attend to some emergency back at their skate club, but now... He thinks he would give pretty much anything in the moment to own his own cell phone, just to be able to talk to someone he knows.

“This is...ridiculous...” his seatmate says shakily. “Why would someone do that? Planes into buildings...ridiculous...”

* * *

By the time night begins to fall, Victor is more exhausted than he's ever been, both physically and emotionally. He'd been to the community center and received an assignment: gathering supplies for the “plane people.” He's been back and forth between local supermarkets and designated temporary shelters (the community center itself, schools, churches, the library...) a dozen times with food, water, toiletries, diapers, and everything else he can think of. All of it simply donated by generous store managers. He's had to put gas in his car twice.

As he pulls up to the community center for what feels like the thousandth time, the results are a well-oiled machine. A dozen other volunteers come running out and quickly divest his car of the supplies, taking them inside to be sorted and dispositioned. “Thanks again, Victor!” the last of them calls as she hurries away.

Suppressing a yawn (and boy does he know the day is far from over yet), he follows them inside and looks around. The dozen long tables that fill the room are all covered with a haphazard crush of things: store-bought food, dishes donated from home, clothes, children's toys, bedding, first aid supplies, everything, all being sorted and marked for their destinations by dozens of volunteers.

“Victor!” he hears from over his shoulder and turns to see the anxious face of one of the volunteer coordinators. “Mayor Elliott just called to say the airport is about to let start letting people off the planes. We have all the school buses on their way to start shuttling them to shelters, but we could also use as many volunteers with their own vehicles as we can get.”

“Count me in,” Victor tells her. “Should I head over right now?”

“Yes, thank you!” She runs off, scribbling down notes on the clipboard she holds and heading for the next volunteer.

* * *

The afternoon passes slowly. Eventually, the passengers quiet down, apparently realizing their questions aren't going to be answered. Only a few of them have cell phones, and once they've contacted their own families and friends, they start to pass them around.

Yuuri waits anxiously for his turn, trying to figure out who he's going to call and what he's going to say. His parents to let them know he's okay? Celestino and Phichit to tell them about the delay? Will they still be at the airport waiting? Or will they have gone home by now? And he should probably only make one call, not hold up the phone for others who need to use it...

It turns out he doesn't have to make the choice. Eventually the woman he'd talked to earlier turns around, a phone in her hand and wince on her face. “Sorry, the battery died,” she tells him, then leaves to return it to it's owner.

Yuuri looks over the rest of the seats; it doesn't look hopeful that he'll get to use one after all. He slumps and gazes out the window. The sun has long since set, and there are big lights illuminating the plane next to theirs, one of those stair car things rolled up to the doors to let passengers off. At the bottom are police officers and military men, waving metal detectors and patting people down as they pass and begin the long trek up to the airport itself.

Hopefully Yuuri and his fellows will get their turn soon, at least. They may all be scared and angry and confused, but at the very least they could be having those feelings somewhere that isn't the cramped airplane seats they've been stuck in for something like twenty hours now. Close to an entire day...

“Lades and gentlemen,” comes the captain's sober voice over the intercom. “The President of the United States is about to make an address on today's events. We'll play it here for you over the speakers.”

The entire plane goes silent as they listen. The president speaks solemnly about the acts of terror that morning in New York City, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania. ( _Not just New York,_ the plane's occupants murmur in shock.) He condemns the despicable acts, eulogizes the victims, and promises that the country will come back from this, that though the foundations of buildings may be shaken, the foundations of American resolve stand firm. He finishes with, “I ask the American people to join me in saying thanks for all the folks who've been fighting hard to rescue our fellow citizens and to join me in saying a prayer for the victims and their families. The resolve of our great nation is being tested, but make no mistake: we will show the world that we will pass this test. God bless.”

By the time the speech ends and the captain turns off the intercom, many people on the plane are crying. Yuuri dashes tears from his own eyes, biting his lip to try and keep it from trembling. It feels almost wrong for him to be so affected: he's not American, not really. But how can anyone in the world not feel something when such a horrific event happens? People _chose_ to do this, to kill in such large numbers, to purposefully strike fear into the heart of an entire country. It's hard to believe.

Not too long later comes another announcement: it's their turn. “Please take only your carry-on luggage,” a flight attendant says. “The rest will stay in the hold. You should also take your blanket and pillow. Once you've passed through security, there are vehicles waiting to take you to temporary shelters. Our passengers have been assigned to Gander Academy – buses 29, 30, and 31. Please try to remain calm and orderly. Thank you.”

Yuuri has never been quite so relieved that he only ever travels with carry-on luggage. It eliminates the possibility of being damned at a competition if an airline were to lose something crucial like his costume or skates. He pushes his airline-issued blanket and pillow into his backpack and pulls it on, then picks up his skate bag, heart pounding as he squeezes down the plane's narrow aisle with the rest of the passengers. He's glad to finally be getting off, but he doesn't know what the outside holds for him.

* * *

It's nearly midnight, and Victor pulls up to the curb outside the airport for the fourth time. Passengers are still coming out in a steady stream, and it's unlike anything he's ever seen here. Though Gander used to be one of the busiest airports in the world, back before bigger planes meant no need to refuel before flying over the ocean, nowadays it's nearly dead. But not tonight.

He leaves his car running and positions himself near the passenger side, starts motioning people over, asking them where they're going. A quartet of wide-eyed girls comes over and hesitantly tells him they've been assigned to the community center. Victor gently welcomes them to Gander and gestures them inside, promising a speedy delivery. Once they're settled, he looks out over the crowd flowing from the airport doors and is about to call out for one or two more passengers with the same destination to make a full load when something catches his eye.

Victor is parked behind a bus steadily filling up with people. In line is a young man wearing a bright blue jacket, wearing a backpack and carrying a smaller vaguely triangular bag in his hands emblazoned with a Japanese flag. Victor doesn't know how he caught sight of him in the dim light and commotion, but just the same: his face is familiar.

The other man sees him looking, tilts his head in confusion – probably wondering why this stranger is staring. But then the line is pushing forward, and the man disappears onto the bus. _What are the odds?_ Victor wonders as he turns away. But it's not important now.

He finds two other passengers going to the community center, bundles them into the car, and takes off.


End file.
